From: sowinski@netdirect.net
Subject: your letters
Date: November 9, 1997 09:44:10 PM CST
To: horsestorideon@hotmail.com
I haven’t responded to any of the letters I have gotten form you or the
people on the mailing list because I don’t want to interfear. All of the
writing is so beautiful. Though everytime I read something form you I start
to cry I love listening to all of the thoughts you put out. I know they
are not full of joy but no-one in the world is full of joy so why should
people pretend? I will confess I did not read all that has been sent to
me. My problem was I had to go on the most mind numbing retreat of my life.
It was a full weekend of church camp, so I could be comfirmed. All to make
mom happy. I know i should not do things to make other people happy, but
there are only a few people in the world that i would really like to try to
make happy. One of those people is mom. I think she has earned some form
of happiness.
My problem with myself is, sometimes i find my self not carring either way
about my decissions. you may not think that is bad but I don’t want to
lose myself. I haven’t been to a dog show in about two months. I really do
miss it. But more than anything I miss my job working for Doug in OKC.I
miss my friends form Texas, Arizona, Nebraska and all those other states
they came form. I really don’t have anything worth while to say. I think
I am too stupid to carry on a good conversation with you. I need to read
more and listen to more music. But i do have to say the last Tori concert
I went to, Purdue, was the best of the two concerts I have been to. The
other concert was Tori also. I haven’t gotten the new U2 CD yet, but I
would like to know if they are going to come anywhere close, also I would
like to the Beasty Boys in concert.
Any way I really don’t want to bore you any more than this.
I really do love you and i miss you a lot
kari
From: exit2k@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Houdini
Date: November 7, 1998 1:38:31 AM EST
To: afw10@columbia.edu, mrvisible@worldnet.att.net, sowinski@inetdirect.net, sejohnst@midway.uchicago.edu, shorning@willamette.edu, gbrennan@willamette.edu, emcgarry@willamette.edu, gdelling@willamette.edu, and 23 more…
if he rose
we were all sleeping
and it was a long, long time ago
there was a land
which must have been green
and soft and wide and not flat
and there must have been rivers.
(the rivers were green
and they were like faces spread across the hills.
i had almost forgotten when he came to me.)
there must have been sunlight when he rose
which he rose into, shining. He was big,
then, he was Huge. He came from the water’s edge,
seeking life.
he was born an explorer.
he was a born explorer.
he was an explorer born.
He asked questions. there were people in the cities.
He was green.
He asked questions. there were not very many good mirrors.
He hadn’t seen enough colors to be sure
where he was.
there was a family.
we’ve forgotten who. it wasn’t important.
He was green. he sailed across the land
and forgot his feet in a cave somewhere.
they live underground still, and you can hear them
traveling across the nation, asking questions,
Have you seen him?
Have you heard his name?
They’ve all forgotten we were here.
Have you loved him too?
We belonged to him once.
he crosses the sky in a red chariot
drawn by fire. he calls to us below,
but not by name. we hear him and we thought He is singing.
he hasn’t seen the ground in days. he is going
sun-blind in the too-high. it was a sad story
the way i told it. it was different then.
they build monuments to feet.
they hear him calling.
i’d grow roots, would that be blasphemy?
the trees are green.
the fires are yellow at the edges. orange is the color of insanity.
i’ve been singing, lately, to see how it feels.
i feel they would hang me if they knew.
he’s like art. he’s often misunderstood.
so many people are.
he came from the water.
he never saw the gills, the fins, the
translucent skin.
if he came closer
i know i’d see his blood moving.
How are you?
he never listens.
not in the sky. he’s like God that way.
From: scoobear
Subject: Fridaynightinmichigan
Date: November 7, 1998 1:29:22 PM CST
I wonder how everything has become
so complicated and distressed
I wonder about things that
need no worry
for there is nothing that can
be controlled
only dealing with what is
I think about things
that have no meaning
or is it that they just
have no meaning to me
anymore
I just spent an evening with a view of my past
a view of what my future could be
and a view of acceptance of unhappiness
and it scared the hell out of me
for if I’m not careful it could be me
and don’t ever want that to happen
A wonderful man
in a screwed up life
with all the things that should
make him so happy
but instead
is sad and miserable
has no concept anymore
of what it is like to
enjoy life.
Trapped in a world of corporations
never wanting to be there
Longing for the past
(but denying it)
Buying toys,
computers
crystal
china
having Cars bought for him
Like a new BMW sports car
that he named Baby
finding joy in these things
and not being able to accept
that he truly is a sweet
and loving man
Nice house on a lake,
is a dump to him
as the 18×32 foot pit group won’t fit
Moving from the big house of the past
and into the life of the present
with the past always right behind him
trying to cling
but trying to end.
Thinking that life
is no more than this
things
things
things
and that people are
there when he needs them
to fulfill the empty feeling
that is there when his lover
lies next to him and wont touch him
Loud fights, cruel words, no apologies
Two people living in a single world
that neither can make into their own.
standing in opposite corners
of a boxing ring
round one
two
three
Always punching
at least
then you feel something
and something is better than nothing.
Trying to explain friendship
caring and loving
only cold puzzled blank spheres
stare back
Begging
pleading
asking why would you
and if you did would you leave
would you hurt me
would you hold me
We went for a walk around the lake
Icy chill blowing thru us
sitting on the dock
holding each other
I listened to stories of pain
rejection and life as he lives it
Why does he stay?
Why do they both stay?
Caring for someone has to be something
Given… not asked for right? Or am I wrong.
As I tried to explain this to him
saw his eyes empty, fill with tears
He says that he cares but the lover doesn’t
That he will make it work
when he knows that it wont
for the first time in many years he is
the main breadwinner in the house,
for the first time in his life
He is in control,
but he isn’t
He is just controlling and holding on
to an existences, not a life
They exist but don’t feel
party hard on the weekend
then come home and don’t talk
lie in bed looking at the freshly painted ceiling,
the same one I was looking at feeling warmth and contentment
He says they pretend to be asleep
knowing that they are both awake
so they don’t have to talk or acknowledge
that neither is happy
neither is content
neither is really there
Maybe it is true
Misery loves company…
But company that is miserable
mean and spiteful
is only misery.
talk about vacations
hotel rooms that are house payments
sports cars… and discontent
this is my World?
We went to a little Restaurant,
The Hightway Inn,
now for you that don’t know the midwest
(or don’t want to admit it, which is understandable)
Small towns here seem to have bread something out of people
some anyway, they have very blank eyes that seem to brighten when they hear
the word FIGHT!… they talk of tractors, of cows or high school football
game from years in the past, things so distant that if you dont talk about
it often everyone will forget that touchdown you made 10 yrs ago that
brought everyone to their feet and won the game, a life that is totally
alien to me… The women wear tight ill fitting clothes from the seventies
that hang over bulges of flesh as only double knit can and the men lear
from behind their tobacco stained teeth, talking of the last wreck they
were in or of near misses and making passes at the waitress while their
wives and kids sit there and say nothing stare at their food eating
contently. Are they happy in their world or do the know nothing more than
the world they live in.
It is deer season here, and the patrons of the Restaurant were a mixture of
hunters and hunted. And I was begining to feel like bambi. A big
waitress with a smile and a slap on the back, for anyone who made her
laugh, bounces over. She is nice but has the look of someone who is
resigned to be in this place and time forever. And you know she probably
will.
She smiles, and I notice a tooth missing, and a fading bruise under her
right eye, Those eyes, they send a chill thru me, they are so sad, even tho
the smile is their… she looked out the window at the sports car, and
smiles…” your car?”
I shake my head, she looks at my friend and he shakes his head. “damn nice
little car there, bet it moves like a bat out of hell” I realize looking
and listening to her that she seems to have a southern accent, which is
strange for michigan… or at least the michigan I am in most the time. So
I ask her, and then the reply explained it all and then some. “No hun,
I’ve lived here all my life, cept for a short time I lived in Angola with
my third husband, who was my first husbands brother….” And suddenly I
was whirling thru her whole life, married 5 times, gonna leave this town
someday and no good old boy was gonna keep her from seing the world… She
knew she was lying but we both smile and laughed with her… And
understand what has happened
I AM ON THE INDIANA MICHIGAN BOARDER…and have inadvertently wandered into
the world of the mich hoosiers… This may not panic some of you for you
really have to experience Indiana and michigan first but together, and
years of inbreeding in these small rual communities, the result is
something out of a Felini movie.
We ate got in my friends new sports car and drove back into the
night….not saying a word for a few minutes then begining to laugh,
knowing that maybe it was the booze or the bud, but we had experienced
something, what we were not sure, and I am still having mixed feelings
about the whole experience, but I know I am alive and survive and must find
someplace where your brother is not also you father.
So tell me everyone… How was your friday night…
Ya hey D. am on my way to lansing for Thai Food…and an evening at the
theater, their is a Russian Opera Company doing a program tonight… then
to a Country Western Drag Show, and dancing. They somehow really don’t
seem to go together but will make for an interesting night, or as close as
it gets in michigan…
Hugs everyone, nice to meet you all
Here’s my webpage!
http://www.geocities.com/WestHollywood/Heights/4062/
Hugs
From: swebel@U.Arizona.EDU
Subject: how something you were shoving against suddenly gives (fwd)
Date: November 7, 1998 12:34:48 AM PST
To: horsestorideon@hotmail.com
this is for everyone, s’s inspiration, i’m shy it’s your game you’ll all
see, but it’s this guy i’ve had an eye it’s been so long and i want to see
him finally. we dodge each/other. this is stalemate it’s dead fish the
way they float. this silly love call, plumage, something to snicker at–
bit sweet, skull mask for the parade–
———- Forwarded message ———-
Date: Fri, 6 Nov 1998 01:14:06 -0700 (MST)
From:
To:
Subject: how something you were shoving against suddenly gives
way and you fall and your arms’ve grown strong from all the pushing.
then still falling, dizziness,
“I did too much, went too far
with their bodies they were only kissing but
Scott had his hands all over”
on Halloween; the sex part of death.
How are you dying? I haven’t seen you in so
long, I look much thinner and diamond.
you’ll have to excuse i’m already half adream, it’s so late and i’ve been
pushing myself with all this work and play. but everybody is going as
death tomorrow at the parade. that’s what this “is about,” the parade at
6 or 7 saturday night that starts at the Zenith center and goes all
around.
and if we don’t see us there, my rush of school stops tuesday when i hand
in those papers, so that night or sometime soon.
this is forward of me: you’re amazing, we all know that, but your great
wall is amazing too. we could play a game or be abruptly topical
or both at the same time: here’s the rule: formulate as tediously
as you wish a single question to pose to me, and i’ll do the same
for you. (both question and answer reveal lots about you, and
remember, no question is a question in itself, i.e., “huh? what the
heck’s he talking about” etc.)
rewind, good day to you, enjoy yourself. & listen to that sound…do you
hear it?
Scott
From: bearcub
Subject: Re: Crack. Front down forget the mane. [a Question. For Dave]
Date: November 7, 1998 10:34:44 AM CST
To: horsestorideon
Cc: exit2k, afw10, mrvisible, sowinski, sejohnst, shorning, gbrennan, emcgarry, and 22 more…
what do you do with all that time and energy on your hands?
Not much. Sit around my apartment in pain.
i got interested in the idea of beastiality…
for the orgasm, yes
for their furriness, sure…
but i was intensely wishing i could get them pregnant and create a mutant
off-spring that i could hang out with
[this is what i felt like in indiana; how about you?]
Some dog licked my asshole when I was 12 as I jacked off.
Never thought about beastiality till recent years.
Just dogs. Male dogs. Fucking me. *tieing* as they call it when they’re nob
goes into your asshole and won’t pull out.
Hasn’t happend. Nice fantasy. Not sure if it ever will.
they seem to lock up
and you can’t really pull them out until they get soft
which can take up to about a half-hour…
and they dig their paws into your shoulders…
if you try to pull them out they’ll hurt you…
—
so, lets see..
i’ve heard stories [or desires, at least]
but have you ever had sex with an animal besides a human?
Yes.
and what were you doing with it?
Already said.
[i mean, was it just to get off? seems a long way to go when you could
just use your hands]
Hmm. That’s a stupid statement. Why get a partner if you could just use
your hand.
Blah blah blah.
sure, we all like the “bear” culture and everything
but what is our beastiality-attraction here, david?
I *hate* the bear culture. It’s overrated and overused and glad that before
I got too caught up in it, I stayed away from it.
OUR beastiality attraction? I have no idea what yours is. Mine is something
I dont’ worry about trying to figure out. It turns me on. And, like, ya
know.. it’s taboo so it makes it more exciting.
not “humans” as something seperate from all the other living creatures…
but what’s it like, fucking like an animal?
You’ll find out someday. 🙂
you got a big cock
yeah
biggest cock we’d ever seen
but what do you do with it?
Ask.. well… you know.
you know: it’s not enough to get off
not enough to just have sex
[or is it? hmmm, that’s up to you, really: go look in a mirror]
I looked in mirror. I have no beard. I think I’m handsome no matter what I
do to my self. It makes me feel good. Sometimes it’s enough to get off when
it helps ease a migrane. Or when you just need to get off. Blah blah blah.
but here’s the question:
what are you trying to accomplish with any act of sex you have with any
animal you have it with?
Depends on the animal, time, situation… way too broad of a question.
Sorry.
bear or cub or otter or dog…
what o you think you might be breeding?
Not a breeder… how about you? 🙂
David Essex
From: horsestorideon
Subject: Re: Crack. Front down forget the mane. [a Question. For Dave]
Date: November 6, 1998 4:09:45 PM PST
To: bearcub
Cc: exit2k, afw10, mrvisible, sowinski, sejohnst, shorning, gbrennan, emcgarry, and 22 more…
so, i guess i ejaculated for my first time when i was 11 or so, masturbating to stolen straight-porn from a friend’s brother…
what do you do with all that time and energy on your hands?
i was out in the coutnry:
lots of space
lots of time
not lots of people…
my choices consisted of what i could find in the media
[be it porn or periodical]
and what i decided to try out for myself.
being a sexually-vacant kid at the time
[i’d still never had sex]
i got interested in the idea of beastiality…
for the orgasm, yes
for their furriness, sure…
but i was intensely wishing i could get them pregnant and create a mutant off-spring that i could hang out with
[this is what i felt like in indiana; how about you?]
the only things i ever attempted to have sex with was a cat and a dog
the cat was female [i think] and i didn’t really try to fuck it…[i thought that hole was much too small… though it probably would have worked] just rub it’s furry belly on my cock…
it was kinda stupid and amounted to nothing.
i tried a dog next,
female.
her vagina was much too small for me to get inside
though i tried to loosen it up
i always felt like the dog didn’t like it
so i stopped after the first few attempts
[i always wore condoms… until i knew what i was doing i didn’t want to catch anything from the dog]
though i think i came once and tried to rub it into here
but hey,
no pups.
my sister then started raising dogs a few years later
[this was about three years after i’d ended the play with the first dog]
i was very interested in the dog’s cock because all male dogs i’d seen had been neuterd…
i jacked it off a few times…
odd thing, a dog’s cock…
odder thing: its orgasm.
when the dog starts fucking it loses control,
it’s hips jerk and shove
and if you look in its eyes
there’s almost a fear there;
a vancancy…
biological fucking: it does wonders to one’s own perspective to take part in another sort of animal’s sexual-being.
—
a man i once spoke with on the IRC called me on the phone
to talk with me for hours about what he’d like to do to me…
with me.
he wanted to kill me…
thought that be hot…
or, maybe, he’d take me to meet this other kid in texas who was 16
and i could choke this kid with my cock
[shoving it to fill his throat and using my hands to hold him there
not a “little death”, but…]
and he’d strangle me while i was killing him
and maybe we’d all cum at the same time
[back-ground data]
so then he just started talking about other things he’d like to force me to do
like take me to a bath house and force me to get fucked by many men,
bare-back’d
he said
“you know you will get sick, don’t you? — i’ll be there to watch you die”
i kept him on the phone to try and understand where he was comming from
[i’ve never let anyone off by just thinking they were “fucked up” or anything as simple as that]
he started talking about dogs…
and if i’d ever had sex with dogs
and how he and his friends had sex with dogs a lot
and would i like to get fucked by a dog?
and does that sound hot?
and he said
that when they cum in a person’s ass
they seem to lock up
and you can’t really pull them out until they get soft
which can take up to about a half-hour…
and they dig their paws into your shoulders…
if you try to pull them out they’ll hurt you…
—
so, lets see..
i’ve heard stories [or desires, at least]
but have you ever had sex with an animal besides a human?
and what were you doing with it?
[i mean, was it just to get off? seems a long way to go when you could just use your hands]
sure, we all like the “bear” culture and everything
but what is our beastiality-attraction here, david?
well
let’s take that inside:
sure, we all like the “bear” culture:
it helps us to remind us that we’re animals,
not fashion-victims
not husbands or wives
not “humans” as something seperate from all the other living creatures…
but what’s it like, fucking like an animal?
you got a big cock
yeah
biggest cock we’d ever seen
but what do you do with it?
you know: it’s not enough to get off
not enough to just have sex
[or is it? hmmm, that’s up to you, really: go look in a mirror]
but here’s the question:
what are you trying to accomplish with any act of sex you have with any animal you have it with?
bear or cub or otter or dog…
what do you think you might be breeding?
From: bearcub
Subject: Crack. Front down forget the mane.
Date: November 6, 1998 4:57:51 AM CST
To: exit2k
Cc: exit2k, afw10, mrvisible, sowinski, sejohnst, shorning, gbrennan, emcgarry, and 23 more…
Canadians…
When will the war end?
We want our bacon back.
His piss was very soothing.
I had seen you on your motorcycle, cruising down Santa Monica Blvd.
Always
your helmet and face guard prevented me from seeing your face. Always your
open leather jacket allowed me to see that thin line of hair tracing a path
to your navel to disappear beneath the silver belt buckle. had never had sex
with a man, but i knew that if i did it would be with someone like you.
Okay…You have just received a call from a long lost friend. He is in town
for the weekend, and he needs someone to take care of his – you got it –
husky from Friday till Sunday night. Well, since he is so well houstrained,
and your roomate was killed in a tragic blimp accident, (right after you won
the lottery) you say sure. He brings over the beauty, who’s name you promptly
forgot. He takes an immediate liking to you, and your friend leaves,
confident he is good hands.
Saturday morning cums with you in bed with the husky at the foot of it. He
wakes when you does, and walks over to you for a scratching. As you pet him,
you let your hand wander down to his ****, and feel it is incredibly large
for a dog!
taokemikal
bearcub
taobear On ICQ
From: rsiken@hotmail.com
Subject: Houdini
Date: November 6, 1998 3:12:19 AM PST
To: exit2k@hotmail.com, afw10@columbia.edu, mrvisible@worldnet.att.net, sowinski@inetdirect.net, sejohnst@midway.uchicago.edu, shorning@willamette.edu, gbrennan@willamette.edu, emcgarry@willamette.edu, and 24 more…
He was not dead yet, not exactly –
parts of him were dead already, certainly other parts
were still only waiting for something to happen – something grand –
but it isn’t
always about me he’s saying,
though he’s talking about the only heart he knows:
boys on the bed, strange sheets, the way the phone rings
in the other room like that, the way it has of ringing, ringing –
Back to him – looks different, talks the same. What he remembers
has nothing to do with us, or does it – the inside parts –
all this circling around inside the darkened rooms inside
those dream of ours that never get used.
He is not dead yet, still though it isn’t
about him – can’t articulate what it is he feels or needs or
thinks he needs, doesn’t know which parts to move
or which ones stack on top of all the other ones.
Doesn’t really
trust us, but then why should he – we sit and listen, then we wander
right back out again –
the small dark rooms still dark, still small – sheets over chairs,
bulbs blown, the windows now open now shut –
But still, we wanted the antidote, the answer to the mystery,
the problem solved: a small-boned boy
beside the window quivering, a boy like a hinge – all the candy
and toilets inside his head –
how we gurgle in anticipation of the passwords, the keys
in the locks, the anything
that covers up the screaming.
He says: It’s quiet now.
He says: It’s empty handed.
He says: Here are big and little words
all spelling out desire, all spelling out You will be alone always
and then you will die –
conjuring conjuring always someone to push us down the stairs again
wearing our sad shoes and waving the little white flags –
especially that, but we should have known.
But we did want to find our way in again, didn’t we?
All of us wanting to find our way in, trying to bash in his head
to get to the candy.
We go to sleep, we slumber, while he lumbers through the mail
to end up on the table, and we wonder what he’s thinking when
he shivers like that,
when he opens up the box and gives us all the explaining.
Suppose for a moment that the heart has two heads,
that the heart has been chained and dunked in a glass booth
filled with river water.
The heart is monologing about hesitation and fulfillment
while behind the red brocade the heart is drowning.
Can the heart escape? Does love even care? Should we stand here
or jump in the water?
Sure, he put himself in the box.
He wouldn’t have if we weren’t watching.
This stunt, this heroic display of showmanship for the home team –
He puts himself in the box
and there’s nothing in the box but him.
Him and maybe Hope.
Snow falls on the water as we dump the booth in the bay.
Suppose for a moment we are crowded around the pier,
waiting for something to ripple the water.
We believe in you. There is no danger. It is not getting dark
we want to say.
From: crw7@dana.ucc.nau.edu
Subject: list
Date: November 5, 1998 2:14:54 PM PST
To: horsestorideon@hotmail.com
Reply-To: crw7@dana.ucc.nau.edu
Dominick,
take me off that list.. I can’t stand it!
Charles
From: exit2k@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: less than a cheerleader, more than an answer
Date: November 5, 1998 1:42:21 PM EST
To: horsestorideon@hotmail.com
ok,
tell me why you replied ALL to the first thing you wrote but not
this?
an accident — i thought i was to ALL, very disappointing to me to hear
otherwise.
there aren’t fucking Curtains here
there isn’t an audiance and we aren’t the stars, kitten.
it’s not about impressing people
or having them think i’m great great great
no
most of them don’t.
really.
okay. but even you yourself said you have trouble watching people enjoy
themselves if you don’t know if they know “why”.
richard doesn’t and trevis doesn’t and i know you don’t and
if they don’t know this game already
they really don’t care.
do you think that they’re reading this shit?
i really don’t expect them to
and i’m not really considering that they are.
am i the only one who reads all of this, all the time? oh, and the new
guy. who’s the new guy? he scares me, and makes me laugh out loud.
after the first thing i sent out with no response
i realized this
and that’s fine.
i feel like a zelot screaming in the streets, eli
i don’t feel like i’m at a party
i’m not drinking or talking or changing the music
i’m rambling in a corner
or an alley
or a bench
under shitty lights
and i’ve picked the people who are in the city
and they’ll hear some of the words
and they’ll see the spectacle
and they’ll go home and make dinner.
it’s very simple
right
simple.
but why are you doing this to yourself? i’m sorry to be asking the same
question over and over — really, you should just call me on the
phuckingphone, it would be quicker and less excruciating, that’s what i
gave you that calling card # for.
i want to know what you feel you’re getting out of this, because it
seems like you hate it, and it seems you like you need it, or love it,
gotta gotta have it. i’d like to say, it’s okay baby, sit down, have a
cup of tea, write in your journal — there’s nothing you need to tell
everyone RIGHT NOW, we have time. there’s no limits. you may pop, but
baby aint checking out yet. let off the panic button, just for a while.
just for you?
i wish i could hold your head and touch your hair slowly, and then maybe
if i said it was gonna be okay, you might believe, or understand why.
i also don’t see why you’re so fucking pressing and offended.
do i have to do all the work here?
make your own fucking sense out of it
or ask me to stop sending it to you
i’m pressing because i’m pushing you, and you shouldn’t take me
seriously when i say i’m offended if i’m not supposed to take you
seriously when you say, Okay everyone here we go, when actually all you
want is to scream into a void and have no response; proof you don’t
exist.
i can’t give you that, mister. you should stop sending them to me if
you want me to not respond. i’ll never let you scream alone.
it’s like staring out the window on the train on your way home.
it’s just a music video
it’s just a scene in the background of your favourite film:
none of it is centre stage and none of it will do anything for you
or i or anyone.
it’s something you can watch if you feel like it
i’m really not expecting a response from anyone…
i’m actually quite pleased that no one has responded
now if i can get you and richard to shut the fuck up i guess i’ll be
all happy, won’t i?
i guess you will. i was very sad when i saw what you did to richard’s
love-song. it was so beautiful, and to see you screaming at a butterfly
like that … something’s wrong, you’re feeling something i don’t
understand, and i see the actions, the results …
i know i’ve lost you. i talked to you every day for one week, and then
in two days i went ill and built a city and i lost you. isn’t it funny
how things work out?
won’t i be happy in my drugged-out lonliness?
won’t i be happy as i’m falling apart?
don’t think you’re the only one who knows i’m gonna blow
i am
i’m ready to fucking pop
i’ve wanted to for so long
i know how it feels when i need a disaster…
and how’s your November going?
not bad, but it just started.
i haven’t been to a party in ages…
i used to love them as a child as long as i didn’t have to talk to
anyone
and no one would talk to me
then
as i got older and did more drugs
i went to a few and became a spectacle for sheridan
i went crazy
like i do everywhere.
like you are now.
my head is a fucking mess
you know that.
i’m a fucking WRECK
you’re not so bad as you think.
you gotta give yourself a little more than that.
that’s the real reason i keep getting offended and asking you why why
why why why why, it’s because all this I’m worthless, I’m a wreck, I can
do no good, I’m falling apart — it’s crap.
the thing is, i’ve finally figured out the answer to Why. This is all
an elaborate cry for help, constructed to be loudest and most effective
while at the same time cloaking it’s own nature. i knew you’d tell me
the secret if i asked you enough times. and you have.
and it’s fair to scream for help, and it’s even fair to want no one to
answer, but you’re not getting your wish.
you promised you’d call. do it. i can’t do anything with you like
this. we might as well be telling jokes at a cocktease party. if i’m
not home, wait a few hours and call again. you can call as late as you
like, but if it’s after one, then you should probably leave a message
just so i have time to pick up the phone. midnight is a good time. but
no time is as good as the present.
mister, we have to talk.
i want to be shot down
i’ll snatch the bullet with my teeth.
i want to be kidnapped
i’ll rescue you and beat the nappers to death with their own chains.
i want to be killed
i’ll bring you back, blow the blood back into your carcass and make you
breathe.
i’m waiting for the car to blow
i’m underneath fixing it.
andwheni’mdone
i’ll shoot you and kidnap you and kill you and drive your car (which of
course will destroy the engine, you know me) just so you don’t feel like
you missed out on anything.
i’m trying to eek out a little bit of myself
so when i go
people won’t follow
you’re just making a road map
you should know
when they want to go
they go
OR
they’ll see my errs and tell me what to do
well, i HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR
but i can’t write it any more,
i’m gonna teach you to talk on the phone.
because i’m so fucking DESPERATE at this point that everything is
what
i need and i don’t have anything and this is all bullshit so i’m going
to stop now
but stop asking
“why”
just fucking figure it out yourself.
O
.
K
.
…
From: exit2k@hotmail.com
Subject: a story of my life; a fragment from months ago; a tale i never finished telling
Date: November 5, 1998 1:29:46 PM EST
To: exit2k@hotmail.com, afw10@columbia.edu, mrvisible@worldnet.att.net, sowinski@inetdirect.net, sejohnst@midway.uchicago.edu, shorning@willamette.edu, gbrennan@willamette.edu, emcgarry@willamette.edu, and 24 more…
When we were waiting for Jonathan to get home and we drove out to the
woods, I showed Dominic a bridge I know in a place called Camp Meeker.
It’s a tiny town, a collection of summer houses really, and not a camp
at all. There is a river, and the bridge over it is also a sort of dam,
maybe a lock, I don’t know what it’s called. The bridge doesn’t go
straight across, but makes four 90-degree turns, so that there is a
little U-shape in the middle. I had been there with Kitty, on my
nineteenth birthday, about a year before I would meet Dominic and thus
about two years from the day I went back to the bridge with him. From
the bridge you could see the house Kitty lived in when I met her, and I
pointed it’s vague whereabouts to Dominic, because it was too dark to
see the house, or anything much. I had practically lived there that
whole summer we were seeing each other, but we didn’t go down to the
river often enough for me to know where the house was in the dark.
I felt strange taking Dominic there, a place that so much belonged
to she and I, one she had shown me. I know so few places to go in Santa
Rosa — or from Santa Rosa because, as Dominic pointed out, this isn’t
in Santa Rosa — and almost all the places I know were shown me by other
people, given to me by my relationships with them, friendly or
lover-wise. It wasn’t that I felt guilty about taking something Kitty,
my first true love, had given me and sharing it with someone who had now
replaced her, in some ways, and in other ways entirely exploded the
space in my life she had filled. It was that I wanted the two
experiences to stay separate, that she could be to me what she had been
and Dominic remain only my Dominic and never belong to any space she had
once belonged to. But I did not have enough spaces, did not know enough
places where I could take him while we killed time waiting to find
somewhere to sleep.
Once we got down to the bridge, however, I felt fine. It did not
seem strange or wrong, and I experienced no vivid memories of being with
Kitty there. Kitty seemed like something that had happened long ago,
much longer ago than I had expected it to feel. Almost anywhere I go
around Santa Rosa will have some association with her for me, because I
became who I am now with her, but I went through that process again with
Dominic, and what he did to me was like destruction, a burning that was
forgetting, the way of forgetting that allows one to live and remember
instead of having to go back every time so that you live two lives at
once. I would not have been able go on without him, and now he was
coming back to Santa Rosa to do again to himself what he had done to her
and all the rest. Dominic has seen almost as much of my life as Kitty,
except he has seen it much more briefly. Destruction is always quicker
than the process of building, I guess. Not always.
While on the bridge, Dominic tried to walk down the steep concrete
incline of the dam-lock to the river, but found it impossible. I was
sure he was going to hurt himself badly or at least get wet. When I saw
he had failed, I made my own attempt and found a way down. We walked
along the river for awhile, where there was only the light of the moon,
and found a tree that had fallen across the river. We sat on that
not-man-made bridge for awhile and talked. When I looked back at the
lot where we had parked, a haven of light reflected in shiny pieces on
the river, I wished I had brought my camera to take a picture. I
mentioned this to Dominic, that if I had brought my camera from the car
I would take a picture of That, but he had no response. We took a
different route back and passed a small playground with swingsets and a
merry-go-round. We swung for a while, and though the playground is a
place I associate strongly with Kitty I thought of her very little.
That moment had passed. Besides, I had forgotten there Was a
playground. After a while, Dominic flew off his swing and fell on the
ground. It sounded like he hurt himself, and I got off my swing even
though I knew he hadn’t. It’s not something he would do, not that way.
I don’t remember what I said to him, standing over him while he lay
on his back and looked up at me, but I remember kneeling down next to
him and placing a hand flat on his chest, and that we didn’t talk much
that way. I just looked around at the dark surrounding us and tried to
decide if I would lay down next to him or if we should go, and if I lay
down next to him would we kiss again, and how would that change things
— into a progression, something that was not an isolated moment but a
process? When I took his hand he thought I was going to help him up,
but when that wasn’t what I was doing he said, “Am I standing up or are
we lying down?” and I said, “I’m lying down,” and I lay on my back next
to him. He put his arm under my neck like a pillow, and we did not kiss
(really I had known we wouldn’t) but looked at the stars in the sky, of
which there were not many because it was unseasonally overcast. I
remember thinking something about the stars being far away, but I don’t
remember what.
From: rderyke@hotmail.com
Subject:
Date: November 5, 1998 12:36:09 PM CST
To: horsestorideon@hotmail.com
I really am disgusted that I bother to read all this stuff you’re
sending me, and worse that I file it away for future reference. Who are
all these people? It’s dreadful; like a harem where you’re the madam.
Well, maybe more like a house of the Burlesque. It’s rediculous. Just
find some Brahms to sing and it’ll all sort itself out.
Did I tell you I’m studying with Ian Partridge? He’s wonderously famous
and we get on so well… I feel it, you know… success is in my
grasp… I feel so good with all the work I’m doing. I’m organizing a
recital at the end of November… big expectations.
Though you’re still waiting around (God knows why!) and throwing
handouts at all these lost dogs and stray sheep. It’s undignified.
Come to London, you fool… the RSC is doing The Tempest in December!
You should see it.
I’m thinking of joining the Brecht evening too… maybe sing some
Hindemith… do you know him? You must find out if you don’t, it’s
brilliant. I spent all of Sunday with John Adams (the composer I keep
telling you about). He’s coming to the RAM next year. He’s such a good
man. I really adore him. He got six curtain calls at the Barbican last
week and they would have kept on if the ushers hadn’t turned up the
lights and pushed every one out of their seats. He’s the ideal composer
for me right now. But you know Phil is going to be here on the 23 and I
have a pass to sit in on his rehearsals!
So, fine… keep it up in America, and send me a note every once in a
while.
But if you’re going to send more false apologies to the world that’s
fighting over your affection, please send them to my RAM account at
ryan.deryke@kcl.ac.uk (but do send them!)
Hotmail can be time-consuming.
But why do you bother with all of those lonely souls out there?
TA HEE HEE HEE… it is fun, though, isn’t it?
Keep laughing, it suits you. Not me so well… I look better with a
face of wonder or determination.
Anyhow… It would be nice to see you again, and we’ll be in touch.
Yours,
Ryan DeRyke
ryan.deryke@kcl.ac.uk
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